


You Take a Flip thru ma Secret Jam yet, dat Sparkle Shit I Left w tha Dance Clowns on

by Rhaeluna



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Alternian Invasion, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Battleship Condescension, Begging, Biting, Blood, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Caliginous-Flushed Vacillation, Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Death Threats, Coercion, Colonization, Come Inflation, Condy is Evil AF, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone is Dead, F/F, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Grimdark, Human/Troll Relationship, Impregnation, Imprisonment, Kinda, Marking, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Mention of Potential Suicide, Off Screen Surgery, Ownership, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Resistance!Roxy, Rough Sex, Sexual Slavery, Size Difference, Size Kink, Tattoos, Terraforming, The Condesce is an Inter Stellar Warlord, Troll Anatomy, Watching Someone Sleep, but at least she still likes baking, except Roxy, forced stripping, tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaeluna/pseuds/Rhaeluna
Summary: The Condesce comes to Earth and decides to keep Roxy as a pet after killing off the rest of humanity.





	You Take a Flip thru ma Secret Jam yet, dat Sparkle Shit I Left w tha Dance Clowns on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoxyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxyPop/gifts).



> Condy is not a good person.

Your name is Meenah Peixes, or at least it used to be. You’re a much badder bitch now, a whole hunkin’ Empress, and way more than you ever were in your wiggle-ass heiress days. Your primary love in life be traveling the stars with your fleet of warships and conquering worlds, or at least it was until you invaded Earth and picked up a fascinatin’ new hobby. Your new squeeze sets your blood pusher aflame, an entertainment more succulent than ripping the heads off screaming alien political monkeys. The girl’s name is Roxy, and the story of how you met brings a cruel smile to your lips.

See, you’ve got this home planet called Alternia where, back in the day, you used to get your kicks bleeding the lower classes for all they was worth. Just some good, healthy extortion and murder. A fun romp until the urchins started revolting. 

When the quelling and culling was all said and done, you wanted to take a nap, hang up your trident, you know? Kick back for a bit. But you couldn’t, no, because them seeds of revolution were still growing. So, in a stroke of true genius, you decided to take all the adults to space. Conscript everyone of age, no matter their blood or position! The weak would die in the voyage, and you’d ride with ya whole planet at your side to new worlds and take ‘em in the name of your homeland all crusader style. God, you are smart. Just thinking about it sends sweet, sweet lightning up your hot spine. Can’t revolt if they constantly fightin’ for their lives.

So, you go rollicking through the stars, a trail of blood on your heels, yeah? Good times. You’re sittin’ in your big red chair, the one at the helm of your Battleship Condescension that spearheads the whole fleet, when one of your goons at the controls whips ’round from his computer and tells you they’ve found another planet to invade.

The thought of another lil world begging for mercy gets you rock hard, your bulge squirming under your bodysuit something fierce, and you know it’s time to get your funk on and go do some murder. Your ships break through the clouds like motherfucking musclebeast angels, throwing spiky shadows over the whole sweet surface of the place. You land and get right into fuck shit up mode, siccing your Legislacerators and Subjuggulators on the planet’s cities. Oh, how your laughter echoed over the mountains as you bathed in their blood, a cigar in your teeth. Delightful.

So you’re doing your usual thing, putting the fear of your bad self in what’s left of the population, when you start to hear about Roxy. A little thing, the crown of her head barely reaching your bulge. Your scouts informed you she be riling up the remnants against you, setting fire to your bases. Nothing new. You were used to the folks you kicked around bitin’ back before they fell down for good. But then you hear that she and her merry band of friends capped a few of your death squadrons, and that’s just not cool.

So you hold a meeting right in front of the smoldering remains of her country’s capital building. You want to meet the girl, maybe ambush her and put her head on a pike, and she don’t disappoint. She talks smack like the best of ‘em, and you can’t help but smile. Feisty. You like her. She’s got short, messy blond hair on tan skin, and she’s wearing this blue, skintight bodysuit that makes you all squirmy. She’s packing a massive red rifle slung over her shoulder like it weighs nothing. Two nerd-looking shorties flank her, a guy in stupid pantaloons with a sword and pointy shades, and another girl in an orange dress with, what, wands? Magic ain’t fucking real, dweeb. You told her as much, but she didn’t seem to think it was as funny as you did.

They gun for you, swinging and shootin’ and blasting all at you as best as their little selves can. You fend ‘em off, of course, and give back a good pummeling. The kids escape, bloodied and bruised, but before your clowns can give chase like the loyal lil barkbeasts they are, you stop them cold. No, you’re thinking, no; this could be fun.

You go slow, savoring the taste of carnage. You destroy a city here, a city there, but mostly just set things on fire and melt the icecaps to flood the world. The humans, as you’ve learned they’re called, well, they don’t really like that, and it makes your little blonde resistance leader even bitchier. 

She challenges you to duels, finds you on the battlefield. You duke it out, fist to fist or gun to trident, and you go easy, not wanting to end it so soon. A revolution on your own planet is an annoyance, but a revolution on someone else’s planet? Bliss. Joy. Nothing short of love. The girl almost bags ya a few times, taking the sword off the sunglasses boy’s corpse and impaling it through your back. You were out for a few days after that, but nothin’ you couldn’t nap off. She missed them vital shits, thankfully.

Half a sweep passes, and you kidnapping humans. Experimenting on them. You’re trying to give them troll blood colors, trying to make them breed like your people do. You’re pretty sure they’re not capable of it, but lord does it get a rise out of the girl. You leave the spent bodies on the planet’s beaches for her to find. It’s at that point, arm deep in a bleeding test cadaver, that you think you might be black for her.

After a full sweep of beautiful terror, the planet razed and flooded with lusii filling the oceans, you think you done. There weren’t any organizations left to face you, no strong humans left alive. At least, except for her, but you hadn’t heard from her in a long time.

You never admit it to anyone, but you went searching. She was so fun, she was the reason you’d stayed on the fucking bullshit rock for so long. How dare she just disappear? When you finally did find her, sitting alone in the twilight of a ruined city, she was a different person. Something had broken inside her since the last time you met.

She was sitting atop a ruined skyscraper, the ground below long since submerged underwater. The moon rose slowly in the still lit sky. She looked so tired, so done, and it put the biggest smile on your face. You swore you felt something akin to affection blooming under your tits.

She heard you approaching behind her, and spoke before you were done settling into the tranquil scene. “Are you done now?” she asked.

“Ya, girl,” you said, shrugging, your teeth bared, “ain’t much lef’ here ta fuck up, ya know?”

“You killed all of my friends.” The girl stood and faced you. Her eyes were bloodshot. 

You nodded. “That I did. Hey bitch, what’s ya name? We been doin’ this back n’ forth hateflirt thang for like, ever, and I still dunno what yo call yaself.”

The girl snorted. She raised her rifle in a flash, training the barrel on your chest. You didn’t move, but instead took another step forward, closing the distance piece by piece.

“Come on, tell me. I like ya, girl, I wanna know before yo do somethin’ stupid.” The girl fired, lighting up the rooftop. Pain burned in your abdomen as pretty fuchsia blood dribbled from the hole in your gut and plopped in little drops onto the ground. You scowled. “Girl, fuckin’ rude.”

“Aren’t you here to kill me?” She asked, firing another round. Your arm sang through the air, your trident deflecting the bullet before it struck home.

You rolled your hips and spun your trident as you stepped further in, ignoring your gunshot wound. She gaped at you, her trigger finger shaking. You stopped when you were close enough that she had to crane her neck all the way back to see your face. Her gun shook in her hands. “Do ya wan’ me ta kill ya?”

The girl growled. “Fuck you, of course not, shitface!”

You purred, and felt a tingle in your groin. “Splendid. See, girlie, I find ya real amusin’.”

“Good for you.” She fired at point blank range into your stomach, and the bullet popped out the other side of you with a wet crack. You didn’t even flinch.

“How ‘bout dis,” you rested a hand on her head, ruffling her soft hair. She shuddered, her eyes locked with yours, but she didn’t shoot again, “me? My fleet? We done here. Gonna split. Why don’ yo come with? Dis planet’s fucked six ways to grubtown, wouldn’t ya prefer to travel dem stars?” 

God, her beautiful pink eyes when she hears you say that. So scared, so helpless. You want her so bad it burning your heart. Fuck, you think, was your bitch ass pitying her, too? “What, you gonna make me your dog?” she said. 

You leaned down, giving her a closer look at your snarling incisors, “that ‘bout sums it up. Now come on, girlie, what’s ya name?” You winked for emphasis. “Gotta know whatta put on th’ collar.” You clenched your fist in her hair, holding her head still as you spoke. She shivered through her whole body, and dropped her gun to the ground. “Ain’t got all day, out wit it.”

“You kill my friends, you fishbitch.” She cried, big heavy tears rolling down her cheeks. The girl wriggled in your grip, unable to break free.

“I did. So what it gonna be?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Not unless ya wanna chill on dis uninhabitable dump planet and be lusus chow.”

She sighed, the fight leaving her body. You were afraid she might fall backwards over the edge of the building. What a waste it would have been. “My name’s Roxy,” she said, glaring at you, “and I’m only doing this because I fucking refuse to die before you do.”

You grin, and scruff her hair. “Now there a good bitch.”

 

-o-

 

You stand next to the massive exterior window on the deck on the Battleship Condescension, your sweet kicks rappa tappin’ on the sleek metal of the floor. You’re fantasizin’ about the cake you just put in the oven, maybe the chocolate needed something more? Next time, you think. Your helmsman is groaning behind you, yellow blood dripping down his chin from where he’s entrenched in cables and wires. He’s a cutie, that’s for sure, and his little squeals of pain give you life. He should have died hundreds of years ago, but you weren’t having that shit.

Galaxies swirl in the distance, stars dotting the infinite void like a tapestry. You close your eyes and feel, taking a deep breath, and you’re back home, looking through the eyes of your vast lusus into the gloom of the deep ocean. You’re connected, like two poles on opposite ends of a planet. Your fuckin’ planet.

It’s been a bit since you sacked Earth. A fleet of your dankest clowns are workin’ away to terraform the place fully, and you enjoy the little updates they text you sometimes. Lots more planets to conquer, lots more grubs to hatch.

You’re on the prowl, watching communication channels and hounding for local gossip in the star systems you visit. You hunting for the next Earth, though if you’re bein’ real you doubt you’ll find another planet as special as Earth anytime soon.

You return to your bitchin’ throne at the center of the room, all huge and red and intimidating. You settle in, your trident at your side, and snap your fingers. A lowblood rushes off, cold fear in their step.

You watch the stars, clicking your heels. After a moment the sound of struggling echoes up the center of the ship. Cussing and grunting that you recognize instantly. You spin in your throne, because of fuckin’ course the bad girl spins, and cross your legs as your henchman leads Roxy onto the deck of the ship. She glares at you, teeth clenched. You smile, and shoo your lowblood away, leaving Roxy standing, unbound, before you in her pajamas. Pajamas that are, of course, bright red and patterned in your sweet as fuck trident insignia.

God, it looks good on her, and you made sure to sew it just a little too tight. She doesn’t even speak to you, just stands there trembling with her arms crossed. You smirk, and rest your elbows on the armrests.

“So, Rox girl, enjoyin’ space?” She huffs, and gives you the finger. Deep bags hang under her eyes. “Wha? What’s dat? Girl you know I don know what dat means,” you say, totally knowing what that means.

“You’re a fuck,” she says, stepping forward, “you and everyone on this ship deserves to suffer and die for what you’ve done you slimy, giantess fucknut!”

A few heads turn from their monitors, and you smirk. “Ooh, flatterin’.”

She stomps her foot, for all the good it does her. She’s shaking. Her body looks worn, tired. She’s breaking at the seams and damn, she’s doing a good job of hiding it. “What do you even want from me? I at least expected torture, but you’ve just kept me locked up in a nice bedroom with lots of food and video games?”

“Ooh, so ya like it?”

She snarls. “Of course not, you bitch. Just you wait, I’m gonna make you beg for death!”

“If ya say so, bitch. Anyway, get ya ass up here,” you pat your knee and lock eyes with her. She crosses her arms, and doesn’t budge. You frown, and slap your thigh hard enough to sting. “Unless yo bring up da torture cuz ya actually really wan’ it?” Roxy falters, and glumly wobbles forward. She’s tiny, barely a handful, so you reach down and lift her by the scruff of her shirt and place her on your knee. Even sitting, she still has to look up to see you. She glares into your eyes all weak and small, a scurrybeast trying to pretend it’s something bigger and mightier than it really be. God, she’s pitiable, and you think you hate her for it. As if your quadrants weren’t confusin’ enough.

“So now what?” She asks. You curl a finger and caress her cheek, grinning. She shivers under your touch.

“Ya like th’ jams?”

She blinks, and looks down. “The pajamas?”

“I fuckin’ stutter?”

Roxy lowers her eyes. “They’re fine. Why bring me out of my cage?”

“Cuz you fun.”

“So I really am your pet.” She sighs. “This is ridiculous.” You run your hand through her hair, and it occurs to you that it would be so damn easy to squish her cute lil noggin like a pumpkin between your thighs. You almost want to. “Are you just gonna make me sit on your lap like a cat and pet me and shit? Is that the rest of my life?”

“Naw. Come,” you say to your needy, whiny girl, and you stand up so she slides off your lap. It took a while for you to be sure she wouldn’t kill herself, and you didn’t want to let her out until you knew fo sure. You’re glad she didn’t off herself. Was it the nice bedroom that kept her around? The good food? You want Roxy to realize, on her own if possible, that you just get a massive fuckin’ hard-on from doting on her, the weak little thing. She belong to you now, and you going to make sure she knows it. 

You stride down the hallway towards your quarters, not bothering to check whether Roxy is following. She will. The girl’s alone in space with an alien race, her entire social circle at the bottom of the fuckin’ sea on a human-less planet. She’ll follow you. You’re all she has, and you love it. The soft clang of her steps is like erotic music in bubbling in your skull. 

You lead Roxy to your chambers, a lavish, elegant space adorned in black and fuchsia. Gold-highlighted furniture fills the room, your recuperacoon hidden away in a sealed vault set off from the main suite. The girl trails behind you, her arms crossed. She looks around, anxious.

“You know I’m just short enough to be at height with your dumb fucking ass, right?” she says as she steps over the threshold.

You smirk, and trail a sharp nail over her shoulder. “Like whatcha see?”

She stares at the ground again. You lead her to the sofa, and motion for her to take a seat. She heaves herself up, far too small for the furniture made for your size. You rest your trident against the wall and press a few buttons on the communicator next to the door. A ping lets you know the pre-written message is sent.

You find your closet and haul out the clothes you made for her. Trolls aren’t usually into fashion so much, and fuck if the rest of your species ain’t missin’ out. Fashion is hype. So is baking, which reminds you that you need to get back to that cake in the oven sooner rather than later, or else the outside might burn. Roxy watches you fumble with the fabrics, and shoots you the grumpiest of looks. Rummaging through the pull, you hold out several dresses for her to take, your smirk growing wider. She stands from the sofa and accepts them, her eyes still on the floor.

“Go ‘head,” you say, “get them jams off and try this shit on.”

Roxy frowns at you. “Oh, I get it. I’m your doll.”

“Fuck yea, girl!”

“What, no modesty screen?”

You cock an eyebrow, and rest your hands on your hips. “Nah, here be fine.”

Roxy shakes her head. “Fucking fuck, I should have let you left me to die on that shitting rooftop.”

“Death still be an option, girlie,” you scoff, “say da word and my trident’ll poke ya.”

Roxy disrobes, throwing the jammies onto the ground. Even her panties have your insignia on them. And soon, you muse, all of her will. She’s thin, but not frail, with toned muscle defining her arms and abdomen. Scars cover her back and legs, no doubt from the machinations of your own henchmen. You lick your lips as you watch her, your eyes trailing over her body. So fucking tiny. Is your bulge even going to fit in her?

Roxy flexes in the dress, and shit you’re so hard. Your bulge writhes, squirming against your bodysuit. The cloth is a purple piece, all jagged and short like your goth ass likes. She pats herself down, and you point at the mirror, twice as tall as she is and mounted on the wall. She stares at herself, her hollow eyes, her paling skin. It’ the first mirror she’s seen in weeks, you made sure of it.

“God,” she says, and tears pool in her eyes. She reaches up to rub them, “fuck.”

You walk up behind her and kneel down, resting your hands on her shoulders. “You don’ like da threads?”

“Of course not, even if they were the best threads in the world I’d hate them.” Her hands are clenched at her sides, and you expect her to attack you, but she doesn’t. “I shouldn’t have agreed to this, why was I so fucking scared to die? You’re evil, you shit!”

“Proud of th’ fact, minnow.”

“I’ll bet.” Her gaze drops to the floor again, and tears dot your carpet.

“Well don’ worry lil Roxy,” you turn her around by the shoulders, and she’s looking up into your eyes as you kneel before her, cheeks wet, “This evil bitch gonna take care of yo ass now, you get me? You mine.”

You trail your hands down her back, her chest, feeling her breasts and bottom. You smile, then, and pull the girl in for a hug. She cringes, but you nestle your head in her tiny neck and pet her, humming. You continue until she relaxes, until she’s wrapped her arms around your shoulders and holding you tight. It’s probably the first hug she’s had in forever. You’ll let her befriend the crew eventually, maybe she can get more hugs that way, but you want your fun first. You need to mark her all over so everyone know who the bitch belongs to, no matter who’s bed she finds her sweet self in.

The door buzzes behind you. Roxy startles, stepping out of your grip and clenching her hands into fists at her sides. Her eyes are red and wet, her lip trembling. “F-Fuck you,” she says. You smirk, and stand to get the door.

On the other side are your technicians, a mix of olive and cerulean bloods. You smile, and step aside so they can enter. Roxy flinches at the sight of them, all menacing coats and masks with just their horns poking out. “You mine, girlie,” you say again, “and all the bitches on this boat are gonna know.” The medtechs grab for Roxy faster than she can move. One of them lifts her up into their arms. She’s hamming against them now, hitting them wherever she can, the fire in her ignited. You ignore her cries, and grin as your techs haul Roxy from your chamber, the door whirring shut behind them. 

 

-o-

 

You sit in the largest chair of Roxy’s room, watching her sleep from off to the side. You want to wake her, but you don’t. Might as well let the lil tyke get some beauty shut eye, you try to convince yourself. You’re staring. She’s naked again, stripped bare and lying atop the sheets of her human bed.

A massive, snaking black tattoo of tentacles and stars covers her entire body from the tops of her feet to the base of her neck. Tendrils of ink swim up and down her limbs, the bulging, fleshy head of an octopus emblazed on her back. It wraps and coils around her, holding her, claiming her just as you’ve done. And then, just above her sex, the slightest evidence of an incision, all that remains of the accompanyin’ surgical procedure.

You smirk. You’d hate to let all your research and experimentation into human biology go to waste. You didn’t change Roxy’s insides, so much as you altered them. A few cuts here, a few additions there. In no time at all you’d improved her, and made her cute lil guts as receptive to troll genetic material as they would be to a human’s.

In other, equally as eloquent words, you could now fuck your little Roxy into the ground and get that bitch human-preggers. God, the thought brings your bulge to life. It presses against the fabric of your black bodysuit, the pressure tight the way you love so much. You writhe in your chair, your hands climbing to knead your breasts. You could take Roxy in her sleep, you supposed, but you’d rather her be awake for the fun. She better be woke for the first recorded instance of human-troll hybridization, if it even worked. Success or fail, you were committed for science, and for pleasure.

You stand, and slip out of your bodysuit. Soon enough you’re naked, your skin tight over your muscle. You sit back down and kick your legs up onto the bed; Roxy stirs, and you see her eyelashes flicker.

You take your squirming length in your hand, the whole of it bigger than the girl’s forearm, and let its slickness wet your skin in a sweet needy rush. You watch Roxy and stroke yourself, pumping in long, tight strokes. Your bulge writhes, your grip on it hard and stiff. Roxy just looks so vulnerable. She’s so fuckin’ pitiable, so small and weak, god, how could you not bury your thickness in her wet human nook?

You cave and decide to wake her. You’re wet as a bloody rag over here and you’re not getting any less horny. You loom over her bed, shadow cast over her toned stomach. You scoot Roxy a bit to the side, eliciting another groan from her, and lie down next to her. You trail your nails over her skin and watch as it prickles up in your wake. Roxy’s eyes flutter open, and she’s looking at you, wide eyed. She tries to shuffle away, groggy, but you restrain her with a firm hand on her lower back. She startles, ogling your chest, mouth gaping at your writhing bulge as it caresses her leg.

“What the fucking fuck? Get out of my bed!” She struggles against your grip, but you don’t budge an inch. Instead you smirk and lean in. Your lips find hers, and you’re kissing her, your hand moving up to the back of her head to hold her still. She squirms, tugging your hair to get you to pull away. Your tongue slips into her mouth and you moan. It’s far too big for her.

“Naw, girlie,” you say, pulling back, “I’m gonna fuck ya now.”

“No, hey fishbitch hold on!” She’s trembling, fear evident in her eyes. She looks down. “You, you, what did you do to me?” Finally, she’s noticed the art covering her skin.

“I marked ya, minnow, cuz you mine. I’m your fuckin’ empress, ya follow?”

“So you knocked me out and gave me weird hentai tattoos?” She’s straining to get free, but she can’t. You grin. She’s lovely, beautiful. 

“I a fishy bitch, it like ya told,” you say, “so I stuck a nice ink on ya, to show all the bitches you belong to me.” You don’t bother mentioning the surgery. She’ll find out soon enough. The prospect of keeping her long enough to surprise her with it fills you with glee. 

You lean in to kiss her again, sucking her lower lip into your mouth. Your bulge grinds against her hip, unable to get all the way over and in between her legs. Roxy bites your lip, hard enough to draw blood. Pain shoots through your mouth, and you laugh. When you pull away, fuchsia drips down your chin. She’s glaring at you, teeth bared.

“C-Can’t we talk about this, I mean, shit you’re kinda fast, you fuck!” She’s rambling, tripping over her words. You cock your head, and feel your horns scrape against the headboard. Roxy smells of strawberry shampoo and disinfectant, and you love it.

“Minnow, we can gab all ya like when we done.” You sit up, tugging her up with you. She groans, moaning under your touch, but doesn’t fight back nearly so hard as before. You can smell the defeat on her, the despair. You drink it like liquor, savoring the taste. 

You cross your legs and lean against the headboard, drawing Roxy into your lap. Her legs are stretched around your hips, her torso barely anything compared to the size of yours. Your bulge grinds against her ass, not quite touching anywhere sensitive. You fondle her; you roll her breasts in your hands, pinch her nipples, and squeeze her thighs.

“You f-fucking bitch,” she says, “stop, damn you,” but she doesn’t attack. Doesn’t try to kill you like she promised. She sits there, finding your eyes, pleading. Oh, she gorgeous when she begs. “Please, fuck, please don’t, I don’t wanna.”

“Give it a hot sec. You will.” You wrap a hand around her waist, holding her in place, and with your free hand wrap your fingers in your hair and tug her chin to the side, exposing her neck, now black and grey with tattoo. She wriggles in your grip, but can’t make you stop. Her arms are crossed, defiant. 

“I’m gonna k-kill you.”

“Yeah, keep tellin’ youself dat.”

You lean down and lick her neck, lapping at the soft flesh. You clamp your lips down and suck, making a pop when you pull away. Your bulge gyrates against her back, and finally, achingly, slips down underneath her to grind against her heat, slicking her up.

“T-That’s not gonna fit,” she says.

“Naw bitch, check it.” You bite down, digging your razor like teeth into her skin hard enough to tear but not hard enough to kill. She screams, her arms whipping up to grab your shoulders for support. She’s crying, her cheeks wet. You bite harder, drawing her slippery wet blood, and tense as your bulge finds her nook and thrusts all the way in.

She shrieks. Roxy sobs, begging with you as she holds onto your shoulders for support, but you’re not listening. She’s just so deplorably pitiable, the cute bitch. You feel her walls stretch around you. You’re too big to take in one go, but bit-by-bit, you work your way further within her, your bugle undulating inside her, writhing with bliss against her insides. She’s trembling, shaking around you, her tears dripping down to mix with the fluid dotting the bed underneath the two of you.

You bite down again just for a little sweet emphasis, and pull away, thick red blood trickling down her clavicle and onto her breast and torso. She heaves, swaying back and forth, doing her best to catch her breath as your bulge goes to town in her, pumping in a hard rhythm, desperate to fill her again as soon as it pulls out and feels the air. She finds your eyes, and you see a pure, undiluted hate. It’s black like marble, beautiful and shining like a dark star. “I fucking d-despite your stupid guts,” she says, and you grin and kiss her again. She doesn’t resist, her lips working softly against your own, kissing you back as you take her mouth. Every few seconds she bites you again, drawing more of your blood. She leans back and slaps you across the cheek. You smirk.

“Bitch, I hate ya so fuckin’ much,” you say to her, sweat gathering on your brow. She’s so warm, so hot, so fucking, achingly small and vulnerable. It’s disgusting, every bit of it, and it sets your insides aflame. You want to move, even as your bulge does all the work for you to get you off. Gritting your teeth, you shove Roxy onto her back and get down on all fours above her, your bulge never leaving her warmth. Her back arcs, small shivers running up her body like tiny sparks of static.

Grunting, you thrust in time with the writhing of your bulge, hilting yourself against her cunt. When you look down at the spot where you connect, you can see Roxy’s belly swelling from the size of you. Erupting with bliss at the sight, you kiss your toy all over her little face, holding her cheeks in your hands as you rut into her, careful not to shatter her bones under your weight and strength.

Roxy keens between sobs, her tears coming fresh as you fuck her into her bed. You growl against her ear, willing her to know how good she makes you feel. Your hands reach down and clamp her ass, holding her still as you plunge into her over and over and over.

On what you know is your final stroke, you kiss her again. You slam your hips against her, filling her completely, and you come, groaning loud enough to be heard down the hall. Roxy mewls, her eyes clamped shut. She shakes her head, her hands tangled in your hair as you both shudder and seize.

She smells of sweat and hate, and you want to spend every moment of your life that you’re not conquering star systems fuckin’ your beautiful minnow stupid. Your discharge spills from her, gushing over the bed and onto the floor. Her stomach swells, growing slightly at each pump of your come. You hold yourself there, buried in your girl as she cries under you. It looks like it hurts. 

“A-Are we done now?” she asks. She’s panting, her voice just above a sigh. She can’t stop shuddering, trembling.

You chuckle, and run a sharp nail down the length of her neck. Your bulge wriggles inside her, pushing against her sore walls, the last drops of your material filling Roxy up. You wonder what your children will look like. You’ll keep that a surprise for now, and relish the day when you get to see her eyes go wide in terror.

“Yeah,” you say, leaning down to kiss her again, “I think we done for now.

You pull her against your chest, holding her in an embrace that feels far too loving for your own good. She cries against you, her hands holding her swollen stomach in fear.

**Author's Note:**

> Condy still is not a good person.


End file.
